Garden
by Carpal-leaf
Summary: A little thing that popped into my head. Trying to convey feelings in secret, remembering the first days on Earth. Crowley tells Aziraphale how he feels.


Aziraphale sat in the chair behind his desk in the bookshop. He placed a hand on the steadily worn woodwork and took a breath. Then another.

When he came downstairs that morning _(Aziraphale still didn't sleep, but felt convention must be followed and so spent most nights in his room)_, he found something on the desk that shouldn't have been there. A bouquet.

At first, he hadn't understood. On inspection, he found there was a letter and book accompanying the bundle of flowers. The book read in ornate letters: The Language of Flowers. The letter was in a crisp parchment envelope, blazoned with the word 'Zira'. Another single purple flower sat on top of the note.

Crowley. They had an argument a few days ago – some minor insignificant thing that gained momentum. Shortly afterwards, Crowley had been called away on work. They hadn't spoken since.

The letter lay in his lap as he peered at the flowers on the desk. The book hung from his hands. The neat script of the letter had only said: "Are you fluent, Aziraphale?" The angel had at first chuckled, wondering what his oldest and most aggravating friend had in store. Upon scanning the contents of the book, Aziraphale had abruptly stopped laughing.

The bouquet was, admittedly, very beautiful. Aziraphale always had a fondness for flowers. They reminded him of Eden. On the table, immaculately wrapped, were an enormous amount of flowers, vivid purples and sharp reds, small flecks of white and yellow, all of which played off each other nicely. Aziraphale waved a hand and they arranged themselves in a glass vase. Then they sat there, taunting him.

_Anxiousness_. _Desire for returned affection_. _Devotion_. _Confession of love_.

These were the sentiments written in the book, marked out by a slight flick of Crowley's perfect cursive writing. '_Secret love_', one passage read. Aziraphale felt a stir. With every new message, he felt himself blush more.

The angel took the last flower from the table, the one which came separately. '_Am I forgotten?_'

He sat there for quite some time, turning the flower in his fingers.

* * *

Elsewhere, Crowley was breaking every known speed limit, the sound of Freddie Mercury bursting in his ears. He didn't mind. By now the Bentley was driving itself. He was just holding on for decorative purposes.

He had done it. About bloody time.

His fingers clenched on the wheel.

It had only taken a few thousand years, but he had finally sorted it all out. Mostly. He understood now, at least. He understood he felt more for the angel than any demon should. He understood that if anyone from Hell found out, he'd better do himself a favour and evaporate. And he also understood that snakes may have spines, but he certainly didn't.

'_It's not as if I could burst in the door and snog him_.' Crowley justified. '_I had to be subtle. If anyone knows, we're doomed_.'

Another smaller voice in his head told him it was the only way he could ever get around to it: if he wasn't there and didn't have to look the angel in his big sparkly eyes. Damn Aziraphale and his sparkly eyes.

He sighed. As he did, the volume lowered a little and the car slowed down a bit. It was done.

Whatever happened now was the angel's choice. At least he tried.

* * *

Crowley arrived back after a week. He thought of going back to his apartment, but honestly saw no reason. He knew where he needed to go. Even if the anxiety was causing him to tap nervously on his thigh.

The demon stood outside the bookstore. Deep breath. He pushed the door in.

The shop appeared empty.

He paused. That was odd…

"Azir-" his voice crackled from nervousness. He cursed under his breath. "Aziraphale?" No reply.

Crowley stepped into the backroom.

Immediately he noticed the glass door that led out into the garden.

Aziraphale didn't _have_ a garden.

Sure enough, the demon saw the angel sitting in the grass. As he made his way through the door, he noticed the bouquet in a vase, in no way withered, no doubt preserved by the angel.

He swallowed and stepped outside.

Crowley walked silently towards the angel, who had his back turned towards him. The neat little garden had nothing in it but grass, laden with daisies. As he grew closer, he noticed little things. Aziraphale's petit ears peeking through his curly hair, a golden halo. The small soft tufts of blonde that ended in the pale skin of his neck. The terrible tartan sweater that hid the soft skin. There was a wonderful calm emanating from him.

"Crowley."

The word stopped the demon in his tracks. The angel said it softly, simply stating his presence.

A short pause followed.

"I'm…uhm…" the demon toyed with his sunglasses. "Back." he finished lamely.

Aziraphale laughed quietly. "Sit." He waved a hand to the grass beside him.

Crowley climbed down and shuffled in the grass. It was nice here. Aziraphale remained facing the sun, sitting along the top of the fence.

Crowley chanced a look at him. He swallowed. By…someone, he loved seeing the angel. Pale and soft and shining. He was literally created to be like this. Loose curls on his forehead, long eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Beautiful. Crowley closed his eyes. He was in trouble.

Crowley felt his glasses being removed and opened his eyes, blinking unnecessarily in the light. Aziraphale watched him with a smile, leaving his glasses aside.

"Thinking?" the angel asked.

"Too much." Crowley chuckled, closing his eyes again.

The angel smiled again. "Flowers." he said simply.

The demon immediately flushed. It delighted the less charitable part of the angel.

"Why flowers, can I ask?"

Crowley squirmed, eyes shut tightly. "I know you like them. I like them too, I guessss. _(He cursed his hissing internally.)_ The make me think of the old daysss."

"Me too." Aziraphale replied, rummaging through the grass. "So long ago. But I still remember the garden." He picked a daisy that he found satisfactory, before turning back to the demon.

"Crowley." the angel called softly.

The way Aziraphale said his name had been so sweet, Crowley cracked his eyes open. When he did, the angel was holding the daisy out to him. He peered at it with his large unblinking eyes and then back at the angel. He was smiling gently, his beautiful blue eyes shining. Crowley took the little flower, patting the petals delicately with his finger.

"I have to confessss," Crowley muttered, "I don't know what this one meansss."

Aziraphale took his hands, still clutching the daisy, in his own. "If your book was credible," the angel chided briefly, "A garden daisy means 'I share your sentiments'."

There was a very stunned silence.

All around the garden were the usual sounds of the city, but neither focused on these things so the garden didn't either. It was perfectly silent between them.

The demon's vertical pupils bored into the angel's softly blinking blue eyes, looking for some sort of clause. There wasn't one.

Crowley let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding (or for how long.)

Aziraphale chuckled, then brought Crowley's hands to his face and kissed his enclosed fingers. He watched the demon for a moment, then pushed him backwards and lay beside him in the grass. Crowley let out a disgruntled noise upon colliding with the earth. The angel laughed.

Their hands found each other's and together they lay in the grass for a few minutes, unmoving. At last, it was Crowley who broke the silence.

"Aziraphale?"

"Yes, my dear?"

The demon ignored the feeling of triumph in his gut. "Close your eyes for a minute."

The angel considered arguing, but decided against it.

There was no sound. Crowley focused on everything he had been imagining, looked about at his work and turned to the angel. He leant over Aziraphale and kissed him softly, burying his fingers in the soft blonde curls of his hair. The angel's eyes flickered open as they pulled apart. As he focused, they went wide.

He looked around at the garden. It had transformed. Lined with trees of various sizes and shapes, adorned with hundreds of flowers of different shapes and colours. In a corner sat a bench, nestled by a water feature. A small stone path led around the winding rows of growth, adorned with tunnels of roses and creeping plants. They now sat in a neat circular patch in the centre of the garden, left deliberately clear of anything but daisies. In the trees, he heard a bird sing.

"It's beautiful." he said lowly, peering about in wonder.

Crowley watched him and smiled. "I had a lot more I wanted to show you, to give you." he fidgeted again. "I realised I couldn't just fill your shop with flowers."

Aziraphale's hand crept into his. "Do they all mean something?"

Crowley nodded. "Even the treess." he said lowly. "It musst sseem sstupid, really."

"I don't think so." Aziraphale squeezed his hand. He pointed to one shrub nearby. "What does that one mean?"

"Your presence softens my pain," Crowley said quietly.

Aziraphale half turned to him, feeling his heart clench.

"And that?" He pointed to a tree.

"I live for thee." Crowley replied softly.

The angel didn't say anything for a moment. Crowley wondered if he had decided it was stupid. Maybe he had frightened the angel, gone too far too fast. Before his thoughts could go any further, the angel moved.

Aziraphale swung his leg over the demon and sat perched in his lap. He held Crowley's face in his hands and looked at him, noticing the flickering in the demon's eyes. He kissed him, feeling the demon ease at the contact.

"This won't be easy." Aziraphale muttered. "I don't know what will happen to either of us if anyone found out."

"I know," Crowley murmured against his lips. "I don't care." He wound his hands around the angel's back and held him close, resting their foreheads together. He considered the risk involved with what he was about to do, but did it anyway.

"I love you." he smiled against Aziraphale's lips.

A smile played against his mouth. "I love you too, you old snake."

In the garden, flowers wound and bristled while the fountain gave out sharp bursts. Crowley pulled Aziraphale against him and they stayed rolling in the grass, kissing softly and murmuring to each other. The daisy twirled in Crowley's fingers as they did, never leaving his hand. It reminded them both of Eden.


End file.
